injuries. Fortunately, most of them weren’t severe, though the one puncturing his arm was still bleeding.
“He’ll live, though it’s going to be the better part of a week before he can be ridden. He’s had a bad scare. Griffons are flighty beasts,” Flinn said heavily, then turned to the boy at his feet. “Dayin, there’s some bread and dried meat in the cupboard. Fetch some, will you?”
Dayin gathered together the simple meal. Flinn, Jo, and the boy huddled around the fire, too tired to move or eat much. They nibbled their cold food in silence.
“You two can take the bed, Jo,” Flinn said when he had finished his last bite. He looked at Dayin and said, with a touch of his old asperity, “Unless you’d prefer to go back to the woods tonight, boy?”
Dayin vigorously shook his head. “No, please.”
“Flinn, you’re injured,” began Jo. “You take the bed.” The warrior waved a hand. “Actually, Jo, the bed’s bad for my back. I’ll be all the better for not sleeping in it.” He stood, shoved the chair to the side, and grabbed an extra fur from the bed. After Jo and Dayin moved out of the way, he spread out one fur and gingerly lay down on the floor. “Good night,” he groaned.
Jo blew out the lantern, and by firelight she and Dayin crawled into the bed. She rolled over once to find a better position, then fell asleep listening to the warrior’s heavy breathing.
Flinn awoke to a noise behind him, by the fireplace. He grew suddenly still. Who-? What-? The morning’s disorientation left him when he recognized the low tune Jo sometimes hummed. Slowly he turned over, his muscles protesting, and sat up. Jo smiled at him, then turned back to the porridge she was trying to stir while straddling his legs. Looking toward the cupboard, Flinn spied the boy, who sat on the table’s edge, his feet swinging back and forth. Dayin smiled also.
“Time to get up!” Jo said cheerily. “Are you feeling better today? I am, though my legs are still sore. Quite a walk back last night. The storm’s still raging. It doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon.”
Flinn was irritated by her talkative good humor so early in the morning, but the smell of a warm breakfast appeased him. Jo was a good cook, and even the inevitable porridge was appetizing when she made it. He arched his back and groaned, the bones shifting into place. Then he stood and began stretching his tight muscles.
Jo busied herself at the table, scrubbing it clean and trying to set it with the ill-sorted dishes. The usual braid down her back was replaced with a riotous length of unbound reddish tresses. She was wearing her leather shift and breeches and had cinched her waist with a wide belt.
Flinn was suddenly struck by how different this day would be if she weren’t here in his cabin.
“Quite a walk, indeed,” he agreed, “and quite a fight. It was like the old days-tracking, doing battle, returning to camp frozen and wounded… and happy.” Jo glanced quickly at him, her cheeks flushing and a smile spreading across her face.
Flinn turned away, replacing the fur on the bed and reaching for his dried clothes. Can I do it? he asked himself. Can I return to those days of glory? In that moment, he acknowledged the secret desire that had germinated the day Johauna Menhir entered his life: to be worthy again of the faith and belief she had in him, that other people once had. The Quadrivial is a long and treacherous road to walk, he thought. I’d have to regain each of the four corners as though I were a squire again. And even if I completed the four comers, the Order of the Three Suns would rather spit on me than readmit me.
“Few knights are worthy of the legends told of them,” Jo said quietly as she stirred the porridge. “You proved yesterday that your courage still remains.”
Flinn winced, then looked into her hopeful eyes. I am nothing now, he thought. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. If only I had her faith in me. But I cannot disappoint that faith.
“Jo, I-” Flinn said haltingly “-I’ve a question for you, about… about your petition to the council to become a squire.”
Jo whirled around, her eyes wide with alarm. Without a word, she gestured for him to sit down. When he did, she did the same. Dayin watched them intently. “Is… something wrong, Flinn? Did I do something wrong when we fought the abelaat?”
Flinn shook his head. “No, Jo, it’s not that-not that at all. You were wonderful in the fight. I doubt I would have survived without you.” He played with his food, then said slowly, “I was hoping you might consider something… else.” He took a deep breath and caught her gray eyes. “You see, I’ve decided to petition the council myself, to try to reinstate my knighthood. I want you by my side as my squire. Of course, since I’m technically no longer a knight, you wouldn’t technically be a squire. Whatever-I’d like you there with me.”
“Flinn…” the girl whispered, blood draining from her face.
“Of course,” he said nervously, “if-if they refuse to review my case, I will gladly recommend that the council take you on as a new squire for some other knight.”
He held up his hands, cutting her short when she tried to speak. “Know this, Jo: the decision is yours. I have no right to ask you to become my squire; in fact, I’d caution you against doing so. If the council members refuse my petition-if they refuse to even see me-they may look with less favor on your petition. It’s a risk, Jo, and one you’d probably better not take.”
“Oh, Flinn,” the girl’s voice was tight, fighting back tears. “I’d do anything to be your squire. Even at the risks you mention.” She swallowed convulsively. “When do we leave?”
Jo’s eyes were shining, and Flinn found himself swimming in their gray purity. He looked away.
“As soon as Ariac’s well enough to travel,” he said. “Now, let’s eat before the oatmeal gets cold.”
Chapter VI
Flinn, Jo, and Dayin stared at the crystals spread across the table in the cabin. Flinn had grouped them by type: the eight he had pulled from Johauna’s shoulder and the six that had been formed with the creature’s blood at the stream. Several candles added their glow to the lantern light and the wan beams of the winter sun. The inside of the cabin shone brightly.
The stones from Jo’s shoulder were the color of clear red wine. They were about an inch long and spindle shaped, with six lateral edges that slanted to a point at each end. Those from the abelaat’s blood were rougher in line and form, as though shaped too hastily. They were nearly an amber hue, and they were eight-sided.
Flinn picked up one of the crystals he had pulled from Jo’s shoulder, his dark eyes glinting in the bright light. He twirled the stone between his long, scarred fingers, his moustache twitching as he frowned.
“My guess,” he said at last, “is that the ones I removed from you, Jo, are better formed because the creature’s poison was in you longer.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I think the extra time allowed the crystals to draw more blood.”
“Draw blood?” Johauna’s eyes grew wide in sudden horror. “Flinn-Flinn,” she stammered. “Could these things be alive?” Dayin’s eyes also opened wide.
“No, I don’t think so.” He shook his head, his black hair grazing the collar of his tunic. “I’m no sage, but I think the crystals need blood to form, not to eat.”
Cautiously Jo picked up one of the wine-red crystals and peered at it. “It is kind of pretty,” she said after a moment, “though I still think it’s pretty gruesome how it was formed.”
“I wonder what purpose these crystals serve,” Flinn mused, rubbing his neck. “Perhaps they poison the victim.”
“Or maybe they preserve the body,” Jo added with a grimace.
“My father used to put them in fire,” Dayin piped up.
Flinn and Jo stared at each other, then at Dayin.
“Used to put them in fire? Just what did your father do, boy?” Flinn asked, setting the stone aside. “And what happened to him?”
Dayin shivered, and his eyes grew wide. But Jo put a gentle arm around the child and stroked his shaggy hair, saying, “It’s all right, Dayin. Flinn and I are your friends.”
“My-my father died almost two years ago. We… our home was near here, about four days’ walk north, I’d
